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LESSONS LEARNED
by C.L. Halvorson
Much to their dismay, there comes a time
in every child’s life where he or she, as the case may be, requires
punishment. My sisters and I were no exception. We had more than our
fair share of lessons learned. Mama and Daddy had very different styles
of teaching us what was and what was not acceptable behavior.
Our father opted for the more
traditional methods of discipline. They didn’t work on him when he was
a child, but he figured he would go with what he knew. The penance he
required mainly consisted of a sound spanking when we were younger. As
we got older, he resorted to taking away privileges. Go to your room,
no TV, no phone, come straight home from school and the like.
When I approached my teen years his
approach had to alter slightly. I was a dedicated loner. I spent most
of my time in my bedroom studying, practicing music or just hanging
out. I loved my room. It had a daybed, which I actually asked for for
my thirteenth birthday. The daybed was flanked by actual end tables
complete with table lamps. My grandmother’s old steamer trunk served as
a coffee table. I even had an entertainment center set up. Mama and
Daddy wouldn’t allow me to have a television in my room for fear they
would never see me again.
When my room took on the appearance of a
family den, Daddy decided that if the need arose, instead of sending me
to the luxury of my bedroom we would instead have me sit out with the
family for a couple of weeks. He never actually had to impose that
particular sentence. Just the thought of it was enough to keep me on
the straight and narrow.
Mama had a decidedly different technique
of getting through to us. Oh, she would employ the old standards
herself on occasion; however she found Shock and Embarrassment to be a
more effective means of discipline. What do I mean by Shock and
Embarrassment, you ask? Allow me to illustrate.
The supermarket we used (and that my
father worked for) was a sort of predecessor to today’s massive super
centers. In addition to grocery items, they offered such delights as
T-shirts and sneakers that cost only $1.99. I wore a lot of those $1.99
sneakers in my life, I can tell you. Actually, they were rather comfy.
Wonder why they don’t make those anymore?
Anyway, in addition to the small
clothing section, they sold quite a wide selection of books and
magazines, some hardware items and household goods. These sections were
substantially larger than supermarkets usually offer but not as abundant
as your local discount super center. Somewhere in between I would say.
My favorite section of the store
however, was undoubtedly the record department. The store had a record
department to rival the local record shop. I loved grocery shopping
day. Mama and my sisters chose food for the next week and I would hang
out in the record department. Mama allowed this as I was the eldest.
Being the oldest child in any family does have its privileges. Such as
being able to stay up an entire half hour more than my younger
siblings. Wow!
Mama’s only requirement for permission
to peruse the records on my own was that I keep a lookout for when she
was done with the shopping (the record department was near the checkout
lanes) and come immediately to join her so that we could leave without
her having to hunt me down.
Now, I had every intention of not
breaking this rule. Each and every week I would spend at least the
first five minutes searching the checkout lanes for her. Unfortunately,
most of the time it took her considerably longer than five minutes.
I would become enthralled by the
albums. Mesmerized, if you will. I was not content until I had gone
through each and every record in the rock and roll section. Even the
ones I already owned. I loved rock music and I loved it loud. I do
believe my bedroom door probably has Daddy’s fist imprint in it to this
day from his beating on it and hollering, “Turn that crap down!”
Ironically, I hardly ever listen to music now and never loudly because
it gives me a headache. My sisters find this hysterical. But music was
my lifeblood at the time.
This being the case, I would always lose
track of time and miss Mama arriving at the checkout. Every week she
would hunt me down and drag me away. I would spend the entire ride home
getting chewed out by her for my lack of consideration. Every week I
would vow to never do it again and beg for another chance, which, good
sport that she was, she always gave me. Finally, one day she had had
enough.
I was once again engrossed in my search,
dreaming of becoming a rock and roll idol myself one day. Mama and my
sisters were waiting but I wasn’t to be found. Mama was friends with
the lady that happened to be working the service desk that day. She
enlisted the old gal into her evil plans. Completely immersed in my own
little world, I suddenly hear over the loud speaker,
“Cara! Cara honey, please come to the
front. Your Mommy is waiting for you."
I froze. I looked around at the other
shoppers in the area. I knew a few of them. I ignored the page.
Clearly they were talking about another Cara. A minute or so later, I
paid for my lack of response.
“Attention shoppers,” began the announcement, “we have a lost little girl in the store and
her Mommy is waiting for her. She’s 14 years old, about 5’3” tall
with dark hair. She was last seen in the record department. Please help
us look for her, her Mommy is desperate!”
I was surrounded my sniggering and my
face was turning a bright crimson. I dropped the record I was holding
and stalked to the service desk mortified beyond reason. When I
approached I found my mother doubled over in laughter with her friend.
I, however, was not amused.
“How could you do that to me?!?” I
demanded.
“You should have been ready when I was,”
Mama snorted through laughter so strong she wiped away tears.
“Don’t you ever do that again!” How I got away with saying that to my
mother I still don’t know.
Mama laughed herself silly all the way
to the car and all the way home. She related the sorry of my
humiliation to everyone she came in contact with for several days.
Being a beautician this meant a lot of people. I, however, was always
waiting for her at the checkout from that day forward. |
